


slow dance these summer nights

by adreamaloud, daneorange (adreamaloud)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, The Reader AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-06-08 03:43:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6837793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adreamaloud/pseuds/adreamaloud, https://archiveofourown.org/users/adreamaloud/pseuds/daneorange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That summer Lexa meets Anya, she is twenty and shivering under the rain. </p><p>Lexa, Anya and another lifetime, reading to each other in the dark. This is not a The Reader AU. Maybe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from LANY. I have missed writing these two. Needless to say, I have many Thunderlove feelings that have yet to be addressed. An early warning: ~~Clarke isn't here. My profuse apologies~~. Oops my hand slipped.

 

That summer Lexa meets Anya, she is twenty and shivering under the rain.

It’s her first day at her internship at the accounting office downtown, and she’d forgotten to tuck an umbrella into her bag on her way out; now she’s caught in the downpour on her lunch break, trying to wait it out under a shed. _Unlucky,_ she just thinks, shaking the wet out of her hair, fingers fiddling with her drenched tie. _What’s new?_

“No umbrella?”

Lexa looks up to find that she’s sharing the waiting shed with another woman – sharply dressed, hair drawn up in a tight bun, and very, _very_ dry. Lexa pats herself down self-consciously, hyperaware of the way her damp shirt sticks uncomfortably against her skin; how her slacks feel heavy with rainwater.

“Yeah,” she says. Funny how, despite everything, her mouth feels so dry. “You?”

The woman shrugs, smirking lightly as she fishes a pack of cigarettes from her pocket and lights up. “Same,” she says, sighing. “I didn’t see the rain coming.”

“Neither did I.” Lexa’s eyes flit between the woman’s face and the cigarette pack in her hand, and the woman laughs upon noticing before offering it to Lexa wordlessly. “Um. Yes, please,” says Lexa, though she does not move. The woman opts to toss the pack over instead of crossing the space between them.

The pack lands softly in Lexa’s hands just as the woman asks, “You’re new around here, kid?” Lexa fumbles with the pack briefly, startled at the question. Her hands are shaking. _It’s nothing, just the cold,_ she tells herself, trying to steady her hands just long enough to get a good light on the tip of her cig. The lighter flickers and dies twice before she gets it right, scalding her thumb briefly.

When Lexa returns the cigarettes, she walks closer. “Yeah,” she replies, avoiding the woman’s eye, suddenly shy. “I—the accounting firm down the street. I’m interning there.”

“Oh,” says the woman, taking the cigarettes back, turning her face to blow smoke to the side. Lexa tries not to stare at her profile; tries not to trace the curve of her cheekbones. “I work right across your office.”

“At the uni?”

“At the library.”

Lexa nods, taking the information in, drawing from her cigarette shakily. Above their heads, the rain slows down to quiet, thread-thin drops.  The woman looks up, like she’s checking the sky. “Well. Rain’s letting up,” she says, dropping her cigarette and crushing it underfoot. “Enjoy the rest of your lunch break.”

“Thanks for the cigarette,” says Lexa back, her hand lifting in an awkward small wave as the woman turns around and walks away, hands in pockets.

She’s already turned the corner when Lexa realizes she hadn’t even asked for her name.

*

There’s a window at the copier room that overlooks the university gates, Lexa finds out soon enough. She spends an inordinate time in it, dreading copier errands up until the moment she spies the woman from the shed walking out of it one afternoon.

_Oh,_ Lexa thinks, looking out the second-floor window, warm copy in her hands. Something seizes in her chest at the sight of the woman walking briskly toward the curb, hailing a cab with one hand outstretched, the other holding a small briefcase at her side.

_Shit._ Lexa turns away from the window, hugging the files closer to her chest, the thing inside her ribs _pounding._

*

It takes Lexa a million and a half tries, but one day, she finds herself entering the library on her lunch break. It’s a Friday, and the office usually has longer lunch breaks on Fridays, so Lexa figures: _Maybe._

She is surprised to find the library occupied upon entering; given the hour, she’d expected it to be relatively deserted. Instead, there are a handful of students huddled around a couple of tables, murmuring quietly among themselves, books opened haphazardly between them.

“Midterms season,” a voice says into her ear, and when Lexa looks up, she bumps into the woman in her surprise. Her startled yelp quiets the room briefly, and Lexa looks away, blushing and embarrassed.

“Sorry,” she mutters. “I didn’t see you--” She lets her eyes fall on the name plate on the woman’s chest, still hovering close. “Miss… Rivers?”  

“Call me Anya,” she says, adjusting her glasses up her nose. Lexa backs herself further into the desk behind her, the edge pressing into the back of her thighs until she’s almost perched upon it. “Can I help you?”

Lexa swallows hard, looking up at Anya’s smirking face. “I’m looking for…” she begins, eyes darting around the shelves, trying to figure out what to say next. Anya chuckles lightly as she waits. “A _book._ ”

_Well, that was the stupidest—_

“Good,” Anya says, clearing her throat and turning away from her. Lexa follows her with her eyes as she breathes out, slowly. Anya makes her way to her desk and sits in front of her computer before tilting her head, looking at Lexa. “Well? You’re in a _library._ Help me help you find a _book_.”

*

Lexa’s lunch breaks now go this way: She turns up at the library, sometimes with a notebook and pen, just to have something in her hands. Often, she catches Anya still behind her desk, frowning at something on her monitor.

“Bad time?” asks Lexa, leaning against the library counter.

Anya smirks, not even looking at Lexa as she adjusts her glasses. “Hang on,” she says, scribbling at a notepad, as if she were copying something off her computer. “Almost done.”

Lexa waits. It’s not like she’s going anywhere. With midterms season done, the library is relatively empty, save for a couple of students near the door. Lexa heads to the table closest to the counter and sits, letting her eyes roam around the room.

“So. What’s it going to be this time?” Anya slides into the seat right across Lexa, a book in each hand. “I have poetry, and I have… well, _poetry_.”

Lexa smiles, leaning back into her seat. “I’ll take the… poetry?”

“Excellent choice, Miss Vine,” says Anya, looking around before actually _laughing,_ the sound bouncing off the shelves, filling the dead quiet of the study hall. _The librarian is noisy,_ Lexa thinks. It’s oddly endearing.

Some days, Anya takes her to the back room, where they split a sandwich and read to each other. “How’s this,” Anya offers. “I feed you, and you read poetry to me?”

Lexa pretends to think about it, eating her portion slowly. She does not say anything until Anya kicks at her shin under the table. “Sure thing,” says Lexa. _Like it’s going to be hard._

And it’s not – it truly is not. Anya likes her Richard Sikens ( _I try, I do. I try and try. A happy ending? Sure enough — Hello darling, welcome home. I’ll call you darling, hold you tight. We are not traitors but the lights go out. It’s dark. Sweetheart, is that you? There are no tears_ \--) and her Mary Olivers ( _You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves. Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile the world goes on_ ) – so much so that sometimes Lexa spies a teardrop or two in Anya’s eye, or so she thinks she does.

Meanwhile, Lexa likes her Rilkes ( _Who knows? Perhaps the same bird echoed through both of us yesterday, separate, in the evening_ ) and Elizabeth Bishops ( _Close, close all night/ the lovers keep./ They turn together/ in their sleep,/ Close as two pages/ in a book/ that read each other/ in the dark_ ), though she isn’t quite sure whether Anya’s into them or not, because every time Lexa reads, Anya’s already leaning back in her chair with her eyes closed and her lips pressed together thinly, her expression unreadable.

Their lunch read-throughs are brief; certainly, an hour is never quite enough. “You can read the rest later,” Anya offers. “I’ll wait for you before I close up.”

And so it goes: The hours after one in the afternoon are Lexa’s slowest, _ever,_ and as soon as the clock strikes end of shift, Lexa speeds out of the office like a mad woman on the run, her shoes skidding across the newly waxed university floor as she approaches the library doors.

The first time Lexa sees the library in the late afternoon, her heart shoots up her throat – the setting sun floods the room with a warm glow, and when she spots Anya, she’s already seated in one of the tables, and her hair is down. _Jesus Christ,_ Lexa thinks, rooted in her spot, hold tightening around the bag slung over her shoulder.

“What are you standing there for, kid?” Anya asks. Her voice echoes in the hall, and she does not look up from the page she is reading. “Take your book and have a seat.”

And so she does, eyes drifting every so often – upon Anya’s hands on the table; her hair under this light; the shadows of the shelves behind her. The slowly falling dark outside.

When night falls fully, Anya gets up and gathers the books in a neat pile. “Time to go,” she says. And then, eyeing the book still in Lexa’s hand: “You taking that home?”

“May I?”

Anya shrugs. “Might as well,” she says, before turning around to head into the stacks. “It’s a good book.” Lexa follows her briefly with a look before walking on over and following after her, their footsteps echoing in the silence. Lexa leans against a shelf, arms crossed as she watches Anya scan the shelf before leaving the books in the designated space.

When Anya finishes she meets Lexa at the other end of the stacks. “So,” she says, looking Lexa squarely in the eye. “What do you want to do now?”

Lexa swallows hard, trying to hold Anya’s gaze as the word _want_ bounces around in her head. _What do I want? Really?_ Lexa’s mouth feels dry, and in the end she is unable to stop her eyes from straying – all over Anya’s face; the edges of her cheekbones; the curve of her slowly spreading smirk.

Anya leans in first. Lexa doesn’t realize what they’re doing immediately, and by the time it hits her, it’s too late to form some coherent response. And besides – what is there left to say when everything is reduced to that single sensation of a warm mouth? Lexa, for one, wouldn’t know.

After a lifetime of just standing there pressed together at the mouth, Lexa feels Anya’s hands start moving, fingers hooking into Lexa’s belt loops and tugging her closer; the other hand slipping into a back pocket and _pushing._ Surprised, Lexa arches into Anya, pressing into her chest warmly; both arms coming up to wrap themselves around Anya’s neck for support. For all intents and purposes, Lexa _needs_ to hang on – _if this is how it feels like to fall,_ she just thinks, threading her fingers into Anya’s hair.

Anya comes up for air first, growling softly as she begins to pull back, slow. “You _bite,_ ” she murmurs against Lexa’s lips, first thing.

“Sorry,” Lexa says, licking her lips like she’s checking for blood. “I didn’t—I couldn’t help it.” In the dark, Anya’s still close enough for Lexa to be able to tell just how wide she is smiling against the corner of Lexa’s lips.

“Well then kid,” says Anya, pressing her lips softly against Lexa’s cheek. “Try again.”

And try she does – and try _they_ do, scratching lightly at each other in the dark. Anya pushes Lexa up against the stacks, pulling at the hem of Lexa’s shirt until it’s out of her slacks and Lexa is weak in the knees.

The library is quiet, save for the little sounds they’re making, and the noise of a book falling to the floor when Lexa accidentally elbows one off the edge.

“ _Shit._ ”

Anya laughs as the word slips out of Lexa’s lips, still holding Lexa’s face in her warm hands. They hadn’t turned any of the lights on, and the room is dark, save for the headlights of cars passing by, and so Lexa has to squint – if only to see Anya looking at her quite fondly, her eyes soft in the low light.

“We have to go,” says Anya finally, hands smoothing out Lexa’s shirt. “It’s getting late.”

Lexa just nods, picking the book off the floor and placing it upon a shelf on the way back to the tables. She says nothing throughout and lets herself be led out of the library, her wrist in Anya’s hand. She watches as Anya carefully shuts the library, listening to the keys in her pocket tinkling as she walked; the sound of her heels against the floor.

Everything is _magnified_ – from the warmth around her hand, to the thing beating in her chest, to the soft ticklish memory on her lips. Lexa’s head is spinning, and she doesn’t quite know what to do with that low-key burning in her belly.

Anya hails a cab without so much of a fuss, and without having to be asked Lexa climbs right in, falling right beside Anya in the back seat, still wordless. They say nothing to each other throughout the ride; Anya speaks exclusively to the driver, as if she were in the car alone. As if she doesn’t have a hand on Lexa’s knee.

The next time Anya speaks to her, it’s to say, “We’re here.” Lexa fumbles a bit with her door but she manages to clamber out anyway, and despite her shaky legs she manages to walk just far enough to reach the steps to Anya’s building, where Anya catches up with her.

“Hey,” Anya just says, slipping her hand back into Lexa’s, the gesture steady and calming and _ordinary –_ like they had done this before. “Dinner?”

Lexa still has no words, merely nodding when Anya asks again with a light laugh and a light elbow against her side. “Hope you like pasta,” says Anya as she unlocks her door. “And pardon the mess,” she adds, stepping out of her heels as she walks into the house barefoot.

Lexa follows suit, leaning down to remove her shoes slowly, tucking them side by side at the door and feeling acutely self-aware at the feel of her socks against the floor of this strange house. _This stranger’s house,_ Lexa almost thinks, letting her eyes wander.

There is no mess – trust someone like _Anya_ to call this a _mess._ The living room, at best, maybe is in a bit of disarray, but only because there are a couple of magazines open on the table, and a mug half-filled with water beside it. Apart from that, everything seems to be right where they belong -- the walls are lined with shelves, and the books are neatly arranged, as expected. There are picture frames, but not too many – Lexa is too polite to stare.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Anya says, and when Lexa turns to her, she’s already in the kitchen, hair back up in a messy bun and sleeves hiked to the elbow. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

Lexa smiles – her mouth is so dry and she is so thirsty. “Water, maybe?” she says – her first two words in god knows how long. Anya tilts her head, opening her refrigerator, and Lexa can’t quite forget the sight of her face aglow.

Anya turns back to her, water bottle in hand. “Here you go kid,” she says. “Go help yourself to the books. I won’t be long.”

Permission granted, Lexa walks right over to the shelves, leaning closer to read the book titles. She is pleasantly surprised to find that they are _not_ arranged alphabetically, by author’s last name, as initially expected: The Atwoods sit next to the Didions and Wintersons and Smiths, and Lexa runs her fingertips across their spines gingerly, like she were afraid of them.

“None of them to your liking?”

Lexa looks over her shoulder to find Anya leaning against the door to the kitchen. She’s changed out of her slacks into something more comfortable and _shorter,_ and Lexa averts her eyes, reminding herself that it’s rude to stare.

“Sorry, it’s kind of—I don’t quite know where to start,” says Lexa, eyeing the frames hanging on the walls: A small painting of a lake, flanked by what Lexa assumes to be Anya’s university diplomas. “Literature, huh?” she says instead, squinting at the details, particularly the date. _Seriously?_

“That’s from a while ago,” Anya says, laughing lightly. “Come into the kitchen. Dinner’s ready.”

There are two bowls on the dining table when Lexa walks in, and Anya calls from the counter, beer in hand. “Dig in,” she says, before gesturing to the can in her hand. “You _are_ old enough for this, right?”

“Shut up,” Lexa mutters, smiling as she takes her seat. The kitchen is warm, and Anya’s table is small, like she isn’t used to _guests,_ and there’s a tiny, ticklish feeling at how it all feels like Lexa just walked in to a _sacred_ space that for some reason, Anya wants to share with her. Not that she minds.

“Whatever, have some anyway,” says Anya, popping the can open and sliding it over to Lexa. “You can’t be under twenty-one.” And then, off Lexa’s slow blink. “No _shit._ ”

“Twenty,” Lexa corrects lightly. “But I’m turning twenty-one, in, like, a couple of months, so—”

Anya just laughs harder. “Christ,” she mutters, fork now in hand. “You’re—let’s _pretend_ I did not know this.”

“How old are you?” Anya lifts her brow at that in seemingly mock offense, and Lexa simply turns her eyes back into her pasta, embarrassed, her cheeks flushed. “Sorry, that was rude.”

“Well, safe to say I’m old enough to drink,” says Anya, raising her drink at Lexa instead.

*

The dinner is easy, and Anya leads the conversation, talking about her day and the book she’d been reading, and some line she remembers jumping out at her off the page. She asks Lexa every now and then about the accounting firm – How was her day? What did she do? After their lunch read-through, what sorts of things did she have to wrap up?

Lexa, for her part, keeps drinking. At first, she finds it difficult to respond – she hasn’t had anyone be so patently interested, hence she doesn’t really know how she’s supposed to answer.

“Do I make you nervous?”

Lexa almost chokes on her beer. “Excuse me?”

“I said: Do I make you nervous?”

_Shit._ “You _kissed_ me,” Lexa replies, words slow. Her brain feels heavy, wrapped as it already is in alcohol. “And now we’re here having dinner. Like it’s the most natural thing.”

“Okay,” says Anya. “Are you not enjoying your dinner?”

“What? No—That’s not.” Lexa takes a deep breath, and Anya just looks at her, like she’s patiently waiting for what’s coming next. “I mean. Thank you. For dinner.”

“And?” Anya leans in, mischief glinting in her eye, and oh, there’s only so much Lexa could do, right, with her breath trapped in her throat?

_Oh._

This kiss, though – under the dim light of Anya’s kitchen, there is no hurry, no acute awareness that at some point it has to end; that at some point, someone has to pull away to close up shop and leave. Right here, the kiss just _is_ – an uninterruptible event.

_We have time,_ Lexa thinks, allowing herself a split-second longer just to fully taste Anya’s mouth.

And it’s not even that Lexa hasn’t kissed before – just that she has never kissed _this way,_ and Anya kisses like she wants to know Lexa’s secrets; like she already _does._ Had she not been seated, Lexa would have fallen, certainly; her knees failing under all this weight.

This time, Lexa pulls back first – eyes closed, hands shaking; Anya’s breath ticklish at the still-damp spot on her upper lip.

“You okay, kid?” When Lexa’s answer comes as a barely registered nod, Anya lets out a soft laugh before standing up, the sound of her chair being dragged across the floor prompting Lexa to open her eyes. She spies Anya opening her drawers, like she’s looking for something. When she turns back around, she’s sporting an unlit cigarette in her mouth.

_Of course she smokes in her kitchen._ Lexa holds her breath.

“Do you mind?”

“It’s your house.”

Anya goes ahead, lights up with a smirk. “Want one?” she asks, tossing the pack over anyhow without waiting for an answer, and Lexa’s hands come up awkwardly, upturned palms side by side as she awkwardly tries to catch it. She takes a shaky moment to light, trying to ignore the way Anya hovers in the periphery.

“Say something, Lexa.”

“ _Something._ ” Lexa lets a thin column of smoke slip past her lips, escaping with the sound. And then, off Anya’s amused laugh: “What do you want me to say?”

“Stay the night,” says Anya, approaching the dining table casually, makeshift ashtray in hand. When she slides it over to Lexa, she sees it more clearly – an empty can of mint, repurposed for cigarette ashes, its surface lined with a thin sheen of water.

“That’s not ‘something to say’,” Lexa argues, just for the sake of it, and Anya rolls her eyes.

“Yes or no would be ‘something to say’.”

Lexa laughs. _Do I fight this?_ She lets her cigarette hover above the tin before flicking the cigarette ashes off the tip, watching as they scatter over the water. “Fine,” she says finally, and Anya settles right across her, sliding a book toward Lexa across the table.

“What’s this?” asks Lexa.

“Something to say throughout the night,” Anya just replies.


	2. Chapter 2

“ _The moment when,_ ” Lexa begins, sitting back and sinking into Anya’s couch, beer in one hand and Anya’s book open in the other. “-- _after many years of hard work and a long voyage, you stand in the center of your room, house, half-acre, square mile, island, country, knowing at last how you got there, and say, I own this.”_

Lexa pauses, studying how Anya’s studying her right back, sipping from her drink quietly from the other end of the room, legs crossed. Anya merely nods at her, like she’s saying, _Continue._

Lexa breathes in. “ _—is the same moment when the trees unloose their soft arms from around you, the birds take back their language, the cliffs fissure and collapse, the air moves back from you like a wave, and you can’t breathe._ ”

By then, Anya has already closed her eyes, setting her beer down on the table, both her hands now behind her head as she leans back further.

“ _No, they whisper. You own nothing. You were a visitor, time after time, climbing the hill, planting the flag, proclaiming: We never belonged to you. You never found us. It was always the other way around._ ”

Closing Anya’s book, Lexa swallows hard, waiting for Anya to say something. “How was that?” she asks, after a while of silence. When Anya just smiles, Lexa downs the rest of her drink. “ _Anya._ ”

Anya opens her eyes slowly. “Beautiful, hmm?” she just says, standing up.

“Where are you going?”

“To bed,” says Anya, picking up the beer as she walks toward the bedroom door. Lexa feels her chest shift as the invitation comes to her clearer, and by the time Anya looks over her shoulder before disappearing into the room, Lexa’s mouth is already dry. “You coming?”

Lexa doesn’t catch herself nodding, but she finds herself up on her feet anyhow, her legs moving.

*

The first time it happens, it happens slowly. Lexa doesn’t know why it comes to her as a surprise, but when Anya starts undressing the minute Lexa steps into the bedroom, Lexa feels her heart shoot up her throat, taking the air out of the room.

“You just going to stand there, kid?” Anya asks, wearing little else apart from that smirk on her face, and Lexa feels a droplet of sweat form upon her brow. The room is lit by a solitary candle in the corner; it does nothing to calm Lexa down. “Come closer.”

_Shit._ Lexa tugs on the first button on her shirt, undoing it shakily as she negotiates with her other limbs. Anya paces toward her, skin candle-lit golden, her hair down over one shoulder. _Shit, shit._

When Anya gets close enough, the first thing she does is run her fingers into Lexa’s hair. “I _said,_ ” she whispers, “Come _closer._ ”

_I would have,_ Lexa wants to say, but her knees are missing and the rest of her is _frozen._ She closes her eyes at the feel of Anya’s hand, leaning into her open palm. _I would have, but this is taking my body apart._

When Anya kisses her, she whispers, “God you’re so _beautiful,_ ” over and over into Lexa’s mouth, her hands running down her spine.

*

“I have never done this before,” she says uncertainly, trembling inside Anya’s hold.

Anya sighs, arching into her. “Slowly then,” she says. “Slow, so it lasts longer.”

*

In the morning, Lexa wakes to an empty bed, and the sound of water running. _Anya is in the shower,_ she thinks sleepily, slipping out of bed on shaky legs and padding into the bathroom barefoot. The door is open, after all, and the shower curtain is drawn. Lexa tries not to stare at the water cascading down Anya’s back in clear rivulets; her eyes adjusting in the morning light.

“Oh,” says Anya, looking over her shoulder briefly. Her tone is casual, like she’d been expecting Lexa all along. “You’re awake.”

_Am I?_ Lexa rubs her eyes, if only to check if she were dreaming. (She isn’t.) She steps inside, careful not to slip; the tiles are cold under her feet, and she hisses lightly at the biting feel of it. _What am I even doing here?_

As if reading her mind, Anya says, “Don’t just stand there.” She tacks on a small laugh afterward – like _that’s_ going to make this any easier. “Come in while the water’s warm.”

It is as promised, Lexa finds out soon enough, taking her place right beside Anya under the spray. Anya turns to her and pulls her in; close enough for both of them to be fully wet in seconds. Anya laughs first, and Lexa feels herself relaxing in her hold, basking in the warm water finally, Anya’s hands slippery on her skin.

“Better, right?” asks Anya, and Lexa finally laughs in kind, wiping at her face.

Anya kisses her; of course she does. It was only a matter of time, Lexa knew as much coming in, but when the moment comes Lexa is still unprepared for all of it – the softness of Anya’s mouth; the tenderness of Anya’s hand as she cups Lexa’s jaw, gently.

“Is this okay?” asks Anya, and Lexa simply nods, quiet as she leans back against the cold tile, sighing at the feel of Anya’s hand running up between her thighs, the other pinning her against the wall by the hip.

And _oh,_ Lexa thinks, _this is more than okay._ She closes her eyes just as Anya nips below her ear, and Lexa is unable to keep herself from gasping. Above them, the shower starts getting colder, but it’s not like it matters with Anya already flush against her – warm, wet bodies slipping against each other under the water.

(Later, when it’s actually time to _get clean,_ she lets Anya do her hair. Anya’s shampoo reminds Lexa of orchards in the early morning light.)

*

And so it goes, like all new habits: Lexa sneaks out to have lunch at the library, and rushes back after her shift, loosening her tie on the way over.

Every time, Anya is there waiting for her, closing her book carefully once she sees Lexa’s face, acknowledging her with a soft, “Oh. You’re here.”

They have lunch in Anya’s small room behind the stacks – sandwiches for two, sometimes, or a couple of wraps Lexa picks up earlier that morning. Always, Anya eats quickly, dusting her palms and going back to her book afterwards, a hand straying under the table and fiddling with Lexa’s fingers. The gesture puts a small smile on Lexa’s face, every time.

In the afternoons, Lexa makes it a point to kiss Anya at sundown, reveling at the way the warm glow of it falls upon Anya’s hair. The sight of it is an easy favorite – Anya heaving against the stacks, her hair undone, smiling lazily at Lexa as her fingers toy with the lapel of Lexa’s shirt.

“You’re amazing,” whispers Lexa, thumb running across Anya’s bottom lip.

Anya laughs. _What a sound, what a sound, what a sound._ “And you’re probably just hungry,” she says, nipping playfully at Lexa’s lips in kind, though there’s no disguising the blush that grazes Anya’s cheek as she turns away from the window.

After dinner at Anya’s, they spend the rest of the night in relative quiet, books in hand. Often, Lexa finds herself lying on her side along the edge of Anya’s bed, head propped up on an elbow, her book splayed open on top of the sheets. Anya watches from her side of the bed, back against the headboard, her lips moving in the half-light.

“What are you reading?” Lexa asks.

“Carol Ann Duffy,” says Anya, not even looking up from her page. “Wanna hear?”

Lexa slides in closer, shutting her book and putting a hand on Anya’s shin. The move is met with a small smile from Anya’s lips – there, but not quite; like it doesn’t want itself shown.

“ _Then the rain came,_ ” Anya continues, clearing her throat. Lexa closes her eyes, like she were letting the words wash over her. “ _Like stammered kisses at first on the back of my neck. I unfurled my fist for the rain to caress with its lips. I turned up my face, and water flooded my mouth, baptized my head, and the rainclouds gathered like midnight overhead._ ”

Lexa opens her eyes at the feel of Anya touching her wrist; Anya’s looking at her so fondly that her chest tightens in all this lovely ache.

“ _And the rain came down like a lover comes to a bed,_ ” says Anya, licking at her lips and closing her book, beckoning to Lexa to crawl into her arms. The space is warm, as always. “Enough reading for tonight,” she says, planting a soft kiss on top of Lexa’s head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Works excerpted:   
> The Moment by Margaret Atwood  
> Rain by Carol Ann Duffy


	3. Chapter 3

 

“Come away with me.”

Anya looks up from her book at that. It is noon in the library and the backroom is sweltering, though Lexa knows the sweat on her brow is more than just the heat. She wipes at it with the side of her thumb, holding her breath as she waits for Anya’s response.

It comes as nothing but a soft, “Hm?” Anya simply arches her brow, like she’s waiting for the rest of Lexa’s statement.

“I said, come away with me.”

“I heard you the first time, Lex.”

Lexa groans, rolling her eyes. “ _Ahn._ ” And then, off Anya’s chuckle: “I’m serious. Go on a trip with me.”

“A trip.”

“Yeah. Somewhere.” Lexa pauses, shifting her eyes to the window. Outside, the world spins madly on: Cars and their engines rumbling by; the rush of footsteps as people hurry past sidewalks. _This place is always in a hurry._ “Anywhere but here.”

There’s a soft intake of breath – like most things with Anya, _there, but not quite._ “Anywhere with _you_ ,” she just says.

*

When it comes down to it, Lexa finds an old summer house overlooking the sea. Anya gets behind the wheel and Lexa rides shotgun, map in hand, their windows rolled down.

“Do you know how to read _that_?” asks Anya, the nth time they’ve had to make a U-turn. Her tone is amused and not unkind, but Lexa takes offense anyhow, greeting that question with a pout. “No judgment, but.”

“Shut up,” Lexa just says, putting her face closer to the map’s surface in her frustration.

Eventually, Lexa figures it out; the drive from thereon turns a bit smoother, and at some point Anya even manages to light a cigarette, letting a hand dangle out her window, the breeze ruffling her hair.

“Are we there yet?” asks Anya playfully, the moment the small visual of the house first comes into view – just a tiny speck in the horizon at the time, yes, but Lexa lets out a small laugh anyhow, her chest filling with expectation.

*

The beach is a long way down, and Lexa takes out two bicycles from the shed at the back, presenting it to Anya with a proud smirk.

“Do you know how to ride _that_?” Anya asks, biting at her lip like she’s struggling to keep a laugh in, and Lexa is unable to keep herself from ultimately swatting at Anya’s arm. “ _What?_ ”

“Are you questioning my skills?” Lexa asks back, grabbing one of the bikes and swinging her leg over, testing the pedal; it creaks under her shoe, but other than that, the resistance there feels familiar and _fine._ “Wanna take it for a spin?”

Anya simply shrugs as she gets on hers, and Lexa is unable to keep her eyes from straying toward Anya’s legs. When Lexa trails her eyes back up, they are met by Anya’s knowing smirk.

The ride down the dusty path toward the beach is shaky at best. Lexa hasn’t been on a bicycle since she was nine, and really, despite everything they say about biking being mostly muscle memory, her knees feel rusty with time.

Anya though – Anya rolls down the path easily, her legs finding a rhythm that puts an extra shake in Lexa’s thighs. They ride close enough for conversation; every so often, Anya laughs at something – a memory from the library, or something she remembers off a book – and Lexa tries her best to not veer off the path in her distraction, her legs wobbly just at the sound.   

When they get to the beach, the sun is already high, and Lexa tries to shield her eyes with her hand. In this light, the sea looks lovely, and she could almost taste the salt in the air. The skies are indescribably blue – almost like the blues she thought she’d never see, except in books where they talk about quiet, faraway places filled with sand.

And now, here it was – and Anya’s even silhouetted against the stark bright light, the sea breeze blowing gently at their faces.  

Truth be told, it’s all pretty beautiful. Lexa scours her mind for the right words, stringing them together from books she’s read; all of it slips from her, like sand between her fingers.

“What are you thinking?” asks Anya, perhaps noticing her silence. They brace their bikes against one of the wooden huts lining the shore before walking closer to the water, their feet bare; Lexa gasps at the first feel of it kissing her toes. “Lex?”

It takes a while before Lexa manages something. “How small I feel,” she says. “At the face of something so enormous.”

“Like the ocean?”

_Like how I feel for you._ Lexa presses her lips together, if only to keep the words in.

“Something like that,” she ends up saying instead, swallowing hard. When she breathes in, she feels the sea fill her lungs; the salt dotting her blood stream.

*

They stay on the shore until sundown, sitting on the sand with their shoulders barely touching. Anya talks occasionally in quiet murmurs, telling small stories from younger days, and Lexa can’t help but be transfixed by the mere thought of _this_ Anya – more reckless and less burdened _._

_Softer,_ Lexa thinks, brushing a finger against Anya’s wrist, braced against the sand. Anya just looks at her upon contact.

“Hm?”

“Nothing,” says Lexa. She keeps thumbing the underside of Anya’s wrist anyhow, pressing in gently, like she were trying to feel for a beat. “You ever wish we’d met earlier?”

Anya adjusts in her hold, though she does not pull away, keeping her eyes on the water. “I think about it sometimes,” she says. “Though what use would it have been?”

“Younger Anya would have been a blast,” says Lexa.

“And _you_ would have been what, technically? Eleven?” Anya turns to her, tongue sticking out, and Lexa retaliates by shoving at her shoulder half-heartedly. “Seriously, Lex. You met me at my best.”

_At my best._ Lexa draws a sharp breath before moving to straddle Anya, knees digging into the sand. Anya looks up at her, calm like she’d been expecting Lexa all along and leaning further back. She’s smiling at Lexa all too fondly as Lexa leans in for the kiss; there’s salt when she swipes at Anya’s lower lip, and her tongue is cherry-sweet.

“I guess—what I meant to say,” Lexa murmurs against Anya’s lips as she breaks the kiss, resting her forehead against Anya’s and melting into Anya’s hold, her hands now warm upon Lexa’s hips. “Meeting you earlier would have meant we’d have more time.”

“We have time _now,_ ” Anya says, moving her lips lower to nip along Lexa’s jaw; always, it puts a shiver in Lexa’s spine. “Wanna find out how much we could make with it?”

*

It rains on their third night.

They’re sitting on the beach tending to a small bonfire when the summer storm comes in and takes them by surprise. Anya looks up, letting out a small squeal as they scramble for their bicycles, and their legs get all muddy on the ride home, the path dimly lit and slippery.

Anya bikes ahead, clearing the path, talking loudly for Lexa. “Follow my voice,” she says, and Lexa’s hands alternate between gripping at her handlebars and swiping the rain away from her eyes.

They’re almost home when Lexa skins her knee, her bike skidding at a curb. Ahead of her, Anya halts and turns around upon hearing Lexa’s bike crash into the mud, cursing loudly in the dark. After negotiating with the thudding in her chest, Lexa eventually manages a small laugh, pushing herself up to her feet, legs shaky and muddy.

“You all right, kid?” Anya asks eventually, touching Lexa’s face with her rain-wet hands. There’s a tremble there, Lexa swears; she could feel it against her cheek.

“I’m fine,” says Lexa, swallowing hard. She’s got her bike in one hand, and Anya’s shirt hem in the other. There’s faint, pulsing pain on her leg somewhere, but it is easily lost in the pitter-patter of raindrops against her forehead, and the feel of Anya’s hand cupping her face gently. “I’m _fine._ ”

Anya pulls her in, kissing her forehead gently before turning back to her bike. “All right then,” she just says. “Let’s get you home.”

( _Home._ The word keeps Lexa pedaling despite the radiating ache in her limbs.)

*

Anya hoses them clean right before they get into the house, _tsk-tsking_ as the skies clear up the moment they rest their bikes against the porch.

“Well,” says Anya as Lexa hisses at the feel of the water hitting her injured leg. “That was anti-climactic.”

Lexa shakes the rain out of her hair, watching as the mud gets washed away, the dirt running down her legs. “Let me,” she says, taking the hose from Anya’s hand and letting Anya get a turn under the water. Anya sticks her leg out, one after the other, twisting them about with a sigh.

When Lexa looks back up, Anya has peeled her shirt off and is standing under the clouded-over moonlight in her bikini top. _Damn it._ Lexa feels her hold around the hose tighten.

“You done?” asks Lexa, voice little else but a rasp. It echoes in the quiet like rustling grass.

Anya smirks at her as she walks over to the faucet to turn the water off. She gives her legs a little shake before climbing onto the porch barefoot. “Let’s patch that wound up inside,” says Anya as she opens the door and disappears.

Lexa has her wound dressed in the middle of the living room. She sits on the couch while Anya kneels in front of her, antiseptic and gauze in her hand. She goes about it in an almost mechanical pace; like she’s done it countless times.

“Ever spent time in a primary school for boys under 12?” Anya explains, dabbing alcohol upon Lexa’s knee gently and _blowing._ In her surprise, Lexa finds herself drawing back slightly, and Anya tightens her hold at the back of Lexa’s knee, like she’s asking her to calm down. “Sorry, kid.”

“S’alright,” says Lexa, whispering in the dark.

Anya distracts her from the discomfort, talking in a measured tone throughout, telling Lexa about the summer she spent sitting in for a friend at the aforementioned boys’ school. “The handful of them who liked books were worth staying for,” she says, cutting the tape with her teeth and fastening the bandages. “But oh, the amount of busted foreheads and skinned knees I had to fix.”

“Were they bike falls just like this?”

Anya tilts her head, smoothing the gauze against the skin of Lexa’s knee. “Some,” she says.

“And the others?”

“Fistfights and roughhousing, mostly.”

“Ah.”

Lexa feels Anya making final arrangements on the bandages before sinking backwards into the couch, and she watches as Anya lifts herself off the floor and onto her lap. _Mother of god._ “Is this all right?” asks Anya, and Lexa strains to hear the, _Does this make you feel better?_ question that isn’t really there.

“Yeah,” Lexa replies. Her throat is dry. Anya pushes the hair away from Lexa’s face and kisses the spot just under Lexa’s ear. Lexa hums, eyes fluttering closed; she circles Anya’s waist with her arms loosely, and in this quiet moment, Anya feels small— _contained._ Like something that’s within Lexa’s grasp; something she’s not in danger of losing.

“This is all right,” says Lexa. “This is perfect.”

*

Of course, Lexa knows, it’s not going to last forever, so she makes sure to commit to memory whatever she could: The smell of early mornings and the sight of Anya with her back to her as she brewed their coffee; the shadows Anya made as she moved across the kitchen floor; that focused look on her face as she read in silence at the other edge of the couch, legs tucked underneath her.

Lexa may be young, but she’s not naïve; she knows everything ends, somewhere.

She tries not to think about it – at least, not here in this summer house, where Anya’s laugh sounds _eternal_ ; where the mornings stretch forever and a half.

“What are you thinking about?” asks Anya. It is midday and they’re sitting on the porch steps, watching the clouds from under the shade.

“Nothing,” Lexa lies. And then, off Anya’s soft knowing laugh: “You and me. Sometimes.”

The laugh tapers off into a sigh. “We’re leaving in two days.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

Lexa licks at her lips, tongue-tip running over the cracks, dry as they are from the heat. _Do you?_ Lexa knows the question Anya’s asking is _not_ what it seems, not at the surface; she knows a thing or two about Anya and things that go unsaid. She says nothing in response and stretches her hand out instead.

Anya threads her fingers into Lexa’s slowly, her grip warm under the sun. “When you asked to go on this trip,” she begins, tone gentle. “What did you expect to find?”

Lexa shrugs. “I wasn’t looking for anything, I guess,” she says, scratching at Anya’s hand idly with her thumb. “Just an empty summer house. You and me and the sea.”

When she turns her head to look at Anya, there’s a smile on her lips. “Lots of that these past few days, hmm?” she says. She pulls Lexa closer, tugging at their joined hands. Lexa plants a kiss on Anya’s bare shoulder. “And after?”

Lexa winces against Anya’s skin. She doesn’t like this conversation, but then again, it’s not like she’s doing anyone a favor by avoiding it. “I haven’t thought that far,” she admits. “Have _you_?”

“No,” Anya says simply, moving closer to Lexa. The sun’s still high, and their skins are sticky under the heat; not that Lexa minds. _If only to be close._ “Which is why I’m asking.”

Lexa sighs, huddling closer as she presses her lips harder against Anya’s collarbone. “Do we have to answer now?” she asks, after a while.

“We have time,” says Anya, gathering Lexa into her arms.  


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Might as well update this one, too. Happy holidays, indeed. <3

 

Coming back to the city is a blur. 

Anya chooses to drive back at night to avoid the sun, and Lexa tries her best to stay awake in the passenger seat. The trip is quiet, mostly, save for the hum of the engine and their intermittent talking. At some point, Anya turns on the radio, filling the space between them with sounds of soft string. 

“What are you doing when we get back?” asks Lexa, breaking a long, wordless gap. Anya hums along to the song on the radio – some old 90’s boyband tune that Lexa doesn’t quite remember the words to – before clearing her throat to answer.  

“Aside from get back to work?” she asks back, trying to keep it light. “I don’t know. Maybe rearrange my shelves, or get some new titles. You?”

Lexa sighs. She’s not looking forward to getting back to her desk, not at all; the prospect of picking up where she left off does not appeal to her really. “Internship’s wrapping up,” she says instead, trying to sound like she knows exactly where she’s taking this train of thought. “Gotta power through it to get good feedback for the transcript.”

“Good luck,” says Anya, reaching over for Lexa’s hand. This is how they spend the rest of the drive: Silently, with fingers entwined. In the dark, Anya’s hold is warm and  _ there _ , and in the absence of words, Lexa feels the noises in her head grow quiet, tucked far away for a moment, even for just a short while. 

*

Back in the city, or at least for the first few nights, Lexa dreams about rain on the beach – the feel of wet sand under her feet; the rumble of slowly approaching thunder, rolling across her chest. The smell of the air in the middle of summer storm, Anya’s voice as she says,  _ We have time-- _

Always, at this point, Lexa wakes with a jolt, sweaty and disoriented in her own bed, before sunrise. 

Most times, she can’t go back to sleep.

*

She doesn’t see Anya for a couple of weeks. 

The internship’s last few weeks unravel quickly, and Lexa foregoes her lunchtime trips and post-shift visits to the library in order to catch up with the volume of work that had been steadily piling up throughout the summer. 

Often, her nights end late, and by the time she walks past the university, the library is already shuttered and dim. Once, Lexa thinks she sees Anya silhouetted in one of the windows— _ there but not quite,  _ as always. 

When she blinks, the window looks even emptier than before. 

So. She doesn’t see Anya for a couple of weeks—but then again, this is technically untrue, because Lexa  _ sees  _ her everywhere: On the train ride home, for instance, reading whilst standing up, a hand around the bar above her head, her top button undone. The train is almost always full, so Lexa never really gets to her, not quite, and Lexa thinks about chasing after Anya when she gets down on her station, but. 

But Lexa doesn’t—because she  _ knows  _ it probably isn’t Anya. Just some random woman with Anya’s hair, or stance, or whatever. In the end, Lexa stays in her corner, and watches as that woman closes her book and disappears with the exiting crowd.  _ A moment there; the next gone. _ Lexa bites her lip. 

On days when she  _ really  _ wants to see her, all Lexa has to do is look out that second floor window—the one by the copier; the one which opens to a view of the university gates. It takes her a couple of days to figure out Anya’s morning schedule, but when Lexa gets it right, she takes her coffee by that window and watches as Anya walks past, briefcase in hand and dress shirt fresh. 

It lasts all of three, four minutes but to Lexa, it feels so much longer. 

*

Two weeks stretch further into a month. Still, no Anya.

*

Sure, Lexa has friends at internship—a couple of guys from IT named Miller and Monty, and this girl from Audit named Gina. She joins them for drinks, sometimes—one of the supervisors at Operations likes hosting, but then, Lexa thinks Blake only wants to get Gina drunk, so she goes to keep an eye on her. They’re fine but she’s not super  _ into  _ the crowd—after all, it’s temporary. 

She’s shedding this group once internship ends, and Lexa’s not looking forward to getting attached. 

“You should see kids your age,” she remembers Anya telling her, one time long ago that they spent the night at Anya’s. 

Lexa remembers making a face in response.  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means exactly as I said—you should see kids your age.” Anya punctuates that statement with a soft laugh, and a kiss against Lexa’s forehead. “Sorry it came across harshly.”

“No, it’s just.” Lexa hums under Anya’s lips, burrowing her face into the crook of Anya’s neck. “Hard to explain. But I  _ do  _ have friends.”

“All right.” 

“Would _you_ like to meet my friends?”

“I wouldn’t be opposed, but.” Anya pauses, wrapping Lexa tighter in a one-armed hug. “I’d understand if you don’t want me to.”

And that had been that. For the most part, Lexa is grateful at the speed with which Anya had dropped the subject, though sometimes she gives it a brief thought: How would it have been, to have Anya in  _ normal  _ life—drinking and laughing with friends, out in the open?

_ That’s just. No.  _ Lexa shakes the thought out of her head, time and time again. 

“You seem out of it, Vine.” Lexa blinks, startled momentarily by the feel of cold glass against the back of her hand. When she registers where she is, she lets out a shaky breath—it’s the last night of internship and they’re out celebrating and Blake is handing her a beer. 

Lexa smiles, accepting the offer. “Gina’s over there,” she comments wryly, pointing to the bar where Gina is talking with Monty. “But thanks.”

Blake just shakes his head. For all of Lexa’s mistrust in people, she doesn’t really think Blake is all bad; in fact, most times, he is tolerable. To be honest, he’s on the tolerable part of the spectrum right now. 

“I know,” he says. “But you still seem out of it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Blake shrugs, clinking his beer bottle against Lexa’s. “Well, drink up kid. Talk later.” 

Lexa just gives him a puzzled look before turning to her beer and taking a quick sip, pleasantly surprised at how  _ light  _ this particular blend is. 

_ Bless you, Blake _ . 

*

Lexa is not a talkative drunk, but she does get a bit chattier. And  _ smilier _ —or so Monty claims, if that is even a word. “That’s not a word,” she tells Monty anyway, patting his cheek warmly, and Monty leans into her hand like a small, drunk puppy. 

(She likes Monty, she really does, though not  _ that  _ way—besides, she thinks Monty likes boys.)

“It is,” Monty insists, nuzzling her palm and for a moment Lexa is afraid that he might lick it. And then, to Miller: “ _ Tell her _ , Nathan.”

“I’m with Lexa on this one.”

“We’re supposed to be a team—”

“Let me Google that for you,” Gina interjects, patting Monty’s head, also drunkenly. “Let’s see if Lexa’s—”

“That’s enough.” It’s Blake. He’s also got that small slur at the edge of his words, but still he sounds far more together, especially for someone who’s been drinking all night. “It’s not a word, but yeah, Monty’s got a point. You do—you get  _ friendly _ , Vine.”

“I do?”

“Yep.”

“Huh.” Lexa lets a small smile play upon the corner of her lips, watching Gina holding her phone, Monty and Miller flanking her.

Beside her, Blake nudges her knee. “You drunk enough to start talking or what,” he murmurs. He still has a half-filled mug of beer in his hand, while Lexa’s is still sort of full. 

“What do you want me to say, Blake?”

“Nothing, just—you seem, I don’t know.  _ Aloof. _ Not that that’s bad. I just noticed.”

Lexa narrows her eyes at him.  _ What is he up to?  _ “Listen Blake, Gina’s my friend, and—”

“Oh.” His eyes widen, and Lexa swears she sees the exact moment he flushes. “No.  _ No no— _ not what I—I meant. Jeez, listen. I have a friend, Clarke—”

_ Oh Jesus. He’s setting me up with his bros. Seriously?  _ Lexa sets her jaw. “Not to put all of this on your lap so soon Blake, but um. Not interested in dating guys.  _ At all. _ ”

Blake makes a small disbelieving noise, and Lexa steels herself for the worst. She holds her breath as he opens his mouth. “Of course,” she hears him say, instead. 

Lexa couldn’t quite believe it. “Excuse me?”

“I mean.” Blake pauses, scratching at the back of his neck. “Clarke’s a  _ girl. _ ”

“Oh.”

_ You should see kids your age.  _ Lexa screws her eyes shut, draining her glass.  _ Shit.  _ Trust Anya to pop in her head at the most inopportune of times. 

“You all right there?” When Lexa opens her eyes, Blake’s already showing her his phone screen—it’s a photo of him with two girls flanking him, their smiles wide. Blake’s in a suit, and one of the girls is in a wedding dress. “Here’s Clarke. This was at my younger sister’s wedding.” 

_ Jesus.  _ Lexa blinks. Clarke’s gorgeous, and— “I see,” she manages, unable to tear her eyes away from the screen. “Your sister’s friend?”

“Mm-hmm, Clarke and Octavia—we were all children together.” 

_ You should see kids your age. _

“So, Vine. What do you think?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _i know my way around your heart._
> 
> i suppose it was only a matter of time until clarke. here you go.

The first time Lexa meets Clarke is at Octavia’s birthday, for which Blake rents a fucking  _ yacht. _

“Seriously?” asks Lexa, stepping into the party, which is already in full swing when she arrives with Gina in tow. The music’s on loud, and the lights are dizzying, and Blake meets them up front with beers in his hand.

“Cheers!” he says, and it’s obvious that he’s been drinking  _ way  _ ahead of them, judging by the redness of his face. “Come in—real party’s at the  _ pool. _ ”

“This thing has a  _ pool? _ ” Lexa asks, wide-eyed.

Blake scoffs. “What do you take me for?  _ Poor _ ?” He laughs, patting Lexa awkwardly at the back. The space by the entrance is already full of people, and Lexa has to squeeze through the crowd while holding her beer bottle aloft to get through to the other side. 

There’s already a small rowdy crowd on the deck when Lexa steps out—girls and guys huddled together in a circle beside the pool and  _ hooting _ . 

“What’s the commotion about?” asks Gina. 

Lexa shrugs, turning her eyes back toward the group and trying to decipher all that chanting. Her eyes widen as soon as she realize what the mob is yelling:  _ Clarke, Clarke, Clarke. _

_ Clarke.  _ Lexa finds herself absently taking another step.  _ Could it be?  _ When she gets close enough to see what’s happening  _ inside _ the circle, she sees a girl lying down on the table, and. 

“Jesus  _ fuck! _ ” Someone yells from the crowd, followed by a chorus of laughter and another round of cheering. Another girl steps forward, takes one of the shot glasses on the table, and leans closer to Table Girl—

_ Body shots,  _ it dawns on Lexa, torn between staying and turning away.  _ I’m not—am I supposed to be here?  _ She wonders. But before she could process fully, Table Girl’s already sitting up and  _ howling,  _ sort of triumphantly. It’s all very confusing—kind of like dropping into a movie two-thirds of the way through. 

“Looks like you’ve found Clarke.” 

Lexa blinks. When she turns, Blake’s already between her and Gina, his heavy drunk arms draped on their shoulders. “What?”

“I said—”

“No, I heard what you said--” says Lexa, shrugging out from underneath him. 

Blake just gives her this drunken pout. “No, no—” he begins, slurring. “Let me introduce you—”

“They’re kind of busy, I think--”

“Hey  _ Clarke! _ ”

_ Oh shit. _ The crowd quiets—it’s almost like the cops arrived to announce that the party’s over—but the drunken laugh that comes after prompts everyone to relax. Clarke lets out an equally drunk,  _ Yeah?  _ and Lexa has to swallow hard at the sight of her parting the crowd of people as she walked on slightly wobbly legs. 

Clarke takes a moment before finally realizing that Blake isn’t alone—and upon finding Lexa standing there, Clarke takes an even longer moment to take her in.  _ Shit.  _ “Who’s your friend, Bell?” she asks, smiling at her. Lexa feels a curious chill course through her spine. 

“This is Lexa,” says Blake, nudging her shoulder. “She’s an intern at accounting.” 

“Oh,” says Clarke, extending a hand. “Hello.  _ Lexa _ .” 

Lexa feels her mouth go dry.  _ Well. This isn’t supposed to happen, is it? _

*

Clarke spends the night drunkenly introducing and reintroducing people to Lexa—there’s Octavia, the other Blake; there’s Raven, body shot girl; and an entire horde of university friends that neither Clarke nor Lexa could keep track of through the night, apparently.  

“You have many friends, Clarke,” says Lexa during their nth introduction round, by which time Lexa is almost drunk enough to not mind. “And they all have sort of similar names.”

“Do they?” At this point of the night, Clarke’s already intensely buzzed and it shows, her blush deepening under the dimming lights. 

It’s actually quite attractive, and no matter how hard Lexa tries not to think about it, at the end of the night she still finds herself being backed and kissed into an empty bathroom stall, Clarke’s fingers curled into her belt loops. 

_ So this is how it is.  _ Lexa takes a brief moment to catch her breath, eyes closed, forehead pressed against Clarke’s. Standing this close, Lexa can hear the throbbing of Clarke’s heart and the steady beat of her own pulse against her ears. Clarke breathes softly over her upper lip—she still tastes of the drinks they’ve had all night, and Lexa darts the tip of her tongue out briefly to lick at the corner of Clarke’s mouth. 

Clarke draws back first, laughing lazily. Her voice is hoarse, like she’s been laughing all night, and when the sound tapers out, she runs a soft hand gently down the side of Lexa’s face. “Hey.” Her eyes come into focus like she’s  _ seeing  _ Lexa for the first time; it’s equal parts intimidating and tender. “You all right?”

Lexa blinks, taken by complete surprise.  _ Would you look at that?  _ “Yeah,” she says, composing herself finally, rearranging herself against the wall so Clarke could fit into her arms more comfortably. “You?”

“I’m good.” And then, realizing how that must have sounded, Clarke hangs her head, a half-smile on her face. “I mean.”

“I know what you mean,” Lexa interrupts, leaning in for a small, quick kiss, tipping Clarke’s chin up with a fingertip. “Besides, I won’t argue.”

“You’re just saying that to get into my pants.”

Lexa forces a laugh out; it’s so awkward, the way her jeans in fact feel too tight. “ _ Clarke. _ ” It’s out like a whine, almost; there are things that Clarke does to her, and she can’t figure them out in time.  _ I’ve known her for less than twenty-four hours.  _

“Sorry,” says Clarke, though her giggle is pure evil, and she keeps touching Lexa anyway under her shirt. “I mean. I won’t  _ argue. _ ”

_ Somebody should have warned me this girl was a force of nature.  _ Lexa swallows hard before pushing herself off the wall, arm wrapped loosely around Clarke’s waist. 

“You’re leaving?” Clarke asks, a tinge of worry in her tone. 

“Yeah,” says Lexa, tightening her hold on her subtly. “Up to you if you want to come with?”

Clarke bites her lip, leans back in, and brushes her lips against the side of Lexa’s neck. The sensation almost topples them over, had Lexa not found the wall again in time. “I think you’re asking the wrong question.”

Lexa shivers at the feel of Clarke lightly scratching at the skin of her stomach. “What  _ is  _ the right question then, Clarke?”

“If we can actually last that long.”

*

The answer is,  _ they don’t.  _

Instead, Clarke finds the keys to the captain’s cabin and locks them in, fumbling in the dark for the door. 

“Are we—is this even—”

“Let me handle Bellamy in the morning,” Clarke murmurs into Lexa’s mouth. She doesn’t know what kind of  _ sway  _ this woman has on Blake, but by the certainty in her tone, Lexa is wont to believe Clarke has practically  _ everyone _ wrapped around her finger.

Including  _ her _ , right this moment, as Clarke backs her carefully near the captain’s deck, and gets her right where she wants her.

The captain’s chair. 

“God, I wish they’d left the captain’s hat somewhere,” says Clarke, beaming in the half-light as she straddles Lexa. “I’d call you Captain, but it lacks  _ sexy,  _ doesn’t it.”

Lexa looks up at Clarke, sets her grip upon the small of her back. “I’d prefer you call me Lexa, but whatever rocks your boat. Or  _ yacht _ . I guess.” 

“You’re hot  _ and  _ funny. Who’d have thought?” Clarke kisses her long this time, sloppy with tongue, and Lexa moans right into it, trying her best to hold onto a grinding Clarke in her lap.  _ Jesus fuck, I hope this chair holds.  _

“ _ Commander. _ ”

“Excuse me?” Lexa clears her throat, holding Clarke even closer. 

“The Naval officer in command is called  _ the commander. _ ”

_ Oh.  _ “We’re still on that, eh?” 

“What can I say, I like my stories grand.” 

_ Well then, _ Lexa just thinks, spinning them carefully around so she can set Clarke upon the edge of the captain’s dashboard and fit herself between her thighs. “We should probably get to that, then,” she says, fiddling with the button of Clarke’s jeans. Clarke hisses as she inhales sharply, her eyes glazing over. “How about that?”

“Whatever you say, chief,” says Clarke, hooking her hands behind Lexa’s neck. “Make it grand.”


End file.
